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FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS, Ajay had worked six nights a week. At least his time at the police academy was almost up, which would open up his days to spend more time with Emms.
On his nights off, they watched TV, went out to eat and sometimes went to the movies. Tonight, Emily talked him into trying something new.
When all ten pins collapsed, she clapped her hands, jumping up and down. "I got a strike!"
Ajay laughed, getting up to take his turn. "This is a stupid game. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"You're just saying that 'cause you're losing."
He groaned, turned toward the lane and threw the ball. Three pins dropped.
"Ha!" She smacked her knee and stuck out her tongue. "You really do suck at this."
"Stop doing that."
"What? This?" Her wicked tongue shot out again.
"Yes. It's very . . . distracting." He glanced down at his crotch. Down boy. He grabbed a ball and tossed it down the lane. The ball rode the center for a few feet and veered to the left. It plunked into the gutter, just shy of its destination. He turned and pointed. "Don't say a word."
With her lips pulled tight, she turned an imaginary key over her mouth and tossed it over her shoulder.
Emily was unlike any other woman he'd met. She softened his hardened exterior, never losing herself, or letting him harden her softened exterior.
The best part of her, though, was her unabashedness. Most people's personality, oftentimes subconsciously, changed depending on where they were or who they were with.
But not Emms.
She was the same whether she was in a park, grocery store or church.
She was the same, whether reporting her vitals to her father, checking out at the grocery store or . . . tossing balls down a shellacked lane.
Emms had lived so long in a virtual solitude, a prison as she'd called it once. She was now free, on a streak of good health, living a life distanced from her brother and father. Albeit, not distanced enough, he thought wryly.
She felt no shame for her lack of life experience. No shame for her strict diet. No shame for her limited physical abilities.
Except sex.
Sex was the one thing that made Emms blush.
But with everything else, she was bold and confident.
It was this shamelessness that oftentimes made him laugh. And making him laugh was not a common occurrence, not for him. In his remembered past, he couldn't recall a time when he'd laughed. Surely there were times, spurts of happiness along the way, but nothing significant enough to stick to his memory.
He was black and she was white.
She was his match.
Emms belonged to him and he belonged to her.
Head tilted, she peered at him with question. "What?"
"Marry me."
She looked at him as if he was a bum who'd asked for spare change.
Fuck, he hated that look, that simple expression of sympathy or . . . what . . . pity?
She plunked down on the orange bench seat. "We've only been together three months."
He dropped to his knees and pushed himself between her legs. "This is how it's supposed to be done, right?"
"No. This isn't how it's done. You plan. You talk about how many kids you want and whether you'll buy a house or rent and where you'll vacation. You buy a ring."
"I'll buy a ring tomorrow."
"You don't just go bowling and decide on a whim that you're looking at the person you want to spend the rest of your life with."
"Emms."
"I'm only twenty." Wringing her fingers, she shoved past him and began to pace. "We haven't even . . ." She stopped and glared at him. "You know."
He lifted himself to a chair. "We haven't what?"
Her eyes bulged. "You know."
"No. I don't know or I wouldn't have asked. I hate when you talk in circles."
"You know."
"What haven't we done?"
When she blushed, it hit him. "You can't even the say the word, can you?"
"I can say it. I just don't want to say it here."
"Let me get this straight. You don't want to marry me because we've never had sex?"
"Shh!"
He hung his head, laughing. She's so damn cute. He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the exit. "We can fix that."
She planted her feet. "I can't."
"Why?"
She hugged herself. "I've never . . ." She waited. "I've never . . ." Her lips pressed tight. ". . . before."
He snaked his arms around her waist, jerking her body against his. His lips grazed her ear. "That much I figured out on my own." Once again, he pulled her toward the door.
"No."
"Now what?"
"I want to wait."
"Wait?" His voice broke.
"Yes."
His eyes darkened; his tone feral. "How long?"
"I waited this long."
"Your point?" Patience thinning.
She shrugged. "I want the fairy tale."
Rational thought was difficult when most of his blood was pooled between his legs. Taking a deep breath, he willed the room to stop spinning and wiped a drop of sweat from his brow. He hadn't been with a woman since Kara three months ago.
He had kept his encounters with Emms mild—no long heated kisses, no roaming hands—and by taking daily cold showers. The mornings were the worst. On more than a few occasions, he took care of himself while she lay sleeping beside him. Waiting much longer might just kill him or blind him with lust but the only other option would be pushing her into something she wasn't ready for or walking away; neither of which he was willing to entertain.
She pushed from his embrace and crossed her arms over her chest, an act of defiance, or maybe an act of defensiveness.
Ignoring her crossed arms, he pulled her against his body. Arms wrapped around her rigid stance. Hands slid down and over her jean-clad, heart-shaped ass. "How soon can we marry?" He tucked his arousal into her belly. "I'm free tomorrow."
Laughing, she pressed her forehead against his chest. "What if . . ."
A finger under her chin, forcing her gaze up. "What if?"
"Aren't you worried I might not be . . . you know?"
"Just say it."
"What if I'm not good . . ." She stared at her feet. ". . . in bed."
He bent his head, muffling his laughter in the top of her head. "Never."